


Mismatched Socks

by literaryoblivion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Derek and Stiles are Neighbors, Elevators, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Neighbors, Shopping, Socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryoblivion/pseuds/literaryoblivion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t get here that early! And no, it’s not for a promotion, although that’d be nice. It’s…” Stiles pauses. He can’t say the real reason he gets there early, so he tries to come up with another plausible excuse. “The bus routes changed, and I have to take the earlier one. My old one would get here too late.” Stiles hopes Scott will buy the lie.</p><p>“Gotcha. That sucks, man.” </p><p>It does suck. Because the truth is, he gets up early and gets to work an hour before he needs to just so he can spend five minutes in the elevator with his next door neighbor Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mismatched Socks

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this as an original piece to begin with and submitted it to a publisher, but the whole time I was writing it, I ended up picturing Stiles and Derek (even though the names were different). After it didn't get accepted, I realized I was kind of happy about that because I honestly wasn't very pleased with it. I contemplated changing it back to being a fanfic and changing the names to Stiles and Derek (since that's who I essentially wrote them as anyway), and as soon as I did, I felt so much better about this story and liked it a whole lot more. Clearly, this story was really wanting to be a Sterek fic and I was trying to force it into something it was not meant to be.
> 
> I think it reads way better as a Sterek fic tbh. :) Enjoy!

The sun filters in through the blinds in Stiles’s bedroom, warming his foot and leg where it is peaking out from under the blankets. He rolls over with the intention to get more comfortable because surely he has more time for such things. As he turns, he opens one eye to glance at his alarm clock on his nightstand, just to make sure he can sleep in a few extra minutes.

And then quickly, he jumps out of bed because no, he does _not_ have a few minutes, or even a few seconds because it is already six thirty and he is so going to be late.

“Shit!” he curses to himself as he trips over his discarded jeans from the day before while he stumbles to the bathroom. He could chance taking the quickest shower ever, or he could just splash water on his face and hair and hope that it’s good enough. He takes too long contemplating the options, however, and suffers with a quick face wash and a few passes of a wet comb through his dark brown hair.

He looks at himself in the mirror and shrugs; it is going to have to be good enough for today. He jams his toothbrush into his mouth and squeezes some paste in after and rummages through his closet to find something acceptable to wear. Luckily, his desk job at a tech support company is pretty lax about dress standards, so he grabs the first polo (orange, unfortunately) he sees, and jeans he is almost positive are mostly clean.

Trying to move the brush around in his mouth as he goes, he pulls on his pants and shirt (nearly choking himself in the process) and goes to his sock drawer. Of course all he has are mismatched ones left; his dryer likes to eat one of the socks in a pair, and he always keeps the other one in the hopes that someday its mate would magically appear. After picking one blue and one black (they almost matched and his jeans covered them anyway) and sliding them on, he goes back to the sink to rinse the paste from his mouth.

“Okay,” he says, taking one last cursory glance in the mirror, rubbing the sleep from his light brown eyes. He appears... decent. The orange does nothing for his pale skin tone. In fact, he is not even sure why he even owns an orange-colored shirt, but whatever. He still looks tired, a late night of binge-watching _Game of Thrones_ will do that to a person, but it was so worth it. He slips on his shoes, pocketing his wallet, keys, and phone, and rushes out the door.

Then, immediately he tries not to look like he was rushing as he locks the door behind him to find his neighbor standing a few feet from his door.

“Heeeyyy Derek,” Stiles says with an awkward wave of his hand.

Derek, who is rocking the stubble today and wearing a green tie that brings out the green in his eyes, gives him a smirk. “Stiles,” he says with a nod. “I almost thought you were taking the day off.”

Stiles chuckles, striding up to Derek who reaches out to hit the “down” button for the elevator. The sleeve of his suit pulls up slightly as he does so, revealing a tanned wrist and a nice pair of cufflinks. Stiles is never sure exactly what Derek does, but he is always dressed impeccably well. He must be a lawyer or an accountant or something equally important.

“Yeah, forgot to set my alarm last night. Woke up late,” Stiles says with a shrug right as the elevator dings open. He makes a large wave with his hand for Derek to go in first, and Derek rolls his eyes but complies. Stiles follows him in and stands an appropriate distance away from him. Derek smells really good today, but Stiles isn’t going to risk looking like some kind of creeper by getting any closer.

“The orange is very festive,” Derek says, mindlessly watching the light above the doors click down from fifteen.

“Huh?” Stiles glances down at his shirt. “Oh. Right. Uh, yeah. That’s… what I was going for?” It isn’t really, but hey, Derek is commenting (complimenting?) his clothes, and Stiles will take what he can get. Derek never says much on their usual elevator rides in the morning, but he is always friendly and nice. The best mornings are when no one but them shares the elevator because Derek usually talks to Stiles more. Stiles hopes this morning will be one of those.

“It goes great with the blue and black socks,” Derek adds, tilting his head.

Stiles looks down at his feet to see that the bottom cuff of his jeans aren’t pulled all the way down, revealing his mismatched socks.

“Shit.” He quickly yanks on the bottom of his pant legs to right them, and he can hear Derek snickering next to him. The guy might be hot with his tailored suits and well-chiseled jaw that sometimes is clean-shaven, but Stiles does not appreciate getting laughed at. He shoots back up, his brow furrowed, his face slightly reddened with anger. He opens his mouth to chew Derek out, but Derek cuts him off before he can get started.

“Sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you.” Stiles gives him a skeptical look. “I promise,” Derek continues. “I have totally had one of those mornings, too.”

Stiles doesn’t really believe him because in the six months he has been living there and seeing Derek, he’s never looked like he’s had even a hair out of place. It’s annoying, actually, and at the same time… not, which is also annoying.

The elevator doors ding and slide open to the lobby of their building. Stiles waits as Derek leaves the elevator before him and follows him out into the lobby. Sadly, this is where they usually part ways. Stiles takes the bus that picks up out front, and Derek goes to the back where the parking garage is to take what Stiles assumes is either a super expensive sports car or an elegant and classy sports sedan.

This time though, Derek stands in the lobby, looking as if he still has something more to say, so Stiles waits.

“I, uh, hope your day goes better,” Derek finally says, a small smile on his lips.

“Me, too. And, thanks. I hope you have a good day also.”

Derek leaves with one last smile and turns to head to the garage. His shiny patent leather shoes click on the tile floor, the sound fading as he walks away.

Somehow Stiles doesn’t think that was all Derek was going to say, but Derek is already out of sight. Stiles sighs, his shoulders slumping a little as he does. He leaves the building and walks to the bus stop just outside, where he has to wait for half an hour before his bus shows up.

~

When he arrives at work, he’s the first one there, as usual. Well, as of three months ago it is usual. His buddy Scott (who used to be the first one in) walks in fifteen minutes later with a disposable coffee cup and a pastry.

“You trying to go for some record or something?” Scott asks while he leans over the wall of Stiles’s cube. He holds out the pastry with a raised eyebrow, offering it to Stiles. Stiles knows he’s being nice and doesn’t ever want Stiles to actually take him up on the offer. Stiles thinks someday he might, snatch the pastry out of Scott’s hand and stuff it all in his mouth just to see what the other man would do. But, he doesn’t want to deal with any sort of fallout from that kind of action today, so he shakes his head.

“Record? What do you mean?” Stiles asks, leaning back in his chair.

“You keep coming in early, man. It’s throwing off my mojo. I used to listen to my tunes without headphones for a good half hour before anyone showed up, and now you’re here before me and I can’t.”

“You can listen to it. I won’t mind.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I’m used to it now. Besides, I got these noise-cancelling headphones because, you know, Greenberg, and they are awesome.”

Stiles makes a face at the name Greenberg. Of all his coworkers, Greenberg is his least favorite; he always takes his loud personal phone calls at his desk. Stiles should not know that much about someone else’s medical issues and ex-wife problems.

“I should get some,” Stiles remarks.

Scott bobs his head in agreement. “But, for reals, dude, you trying to go for a promotion, or something? Cause, there’s gotta be better ways to get one than getting here before the rooster crows.”

“I don’t get here that early! And no, it’s not for a promotion, although that’d be nice. It’s…” Stiles pauses. He can’t say the real reason he gets there early, so he tries to come up with another plausible excuse. “The bus routes changed, and I have to take the earlier one. My old one would get here too late.” Stiles hopes Scott will buy the lie.

“Gotcha. That sucks, man.”

It does suck. Because the truth is, he gets up early and gets to work an hour before he needs to just so he can spend five minutes in the elevator with Derek. He freaks out like he did this morning when he’s late and misses Derek because the man is a machine and always leaves his apartment at the same time everyday. Stiles had noticed when he had to come in early for a week for a project, and he’s kept the same schedule ever since, riding the elevator down with Derek and slowly chipping away at Derek’s seemingly gruff and quiet exterior.

He’s kind of pathetic and ridiculous and he should probably just ask him out, but Stiles has never been brave enough to ask. It took a while to get to the point where he and Derek are at now, being comfortable talking and wishing each other a good day. A part of Stiles doesn’t want to ruin that, whatever that may be. Seeing one of Derek’s smiles in the morning makes his entire day, and if that disappears, well, Stiles doesn’t want to think about what would happen in that case.

During their conversation, a few other people have trickled in, the sound of their computers turning on and the coffeemaker going while everyone settles in for the day. Right then, one of their managers walks in to their area. She’s the nicer of their two bosses, and Stiles gets along with her well. “Heya boss!” Scott calls to her, giving her a salute with his half-eaten pastry.

“Hey, guys,” she replies, taking a few steps closer to Stiles’s cubical. “I left some coffee and doughnuts in the break room if you want any.” She leaves them with a wink.

Those that heard her are making their way to the break room like cattle. Stiles, having not had time to get something in his rush to catch Derek, stands from his desk and walks around Scott to get a few doughnuts before they are all gone.

“Hey, get me one,” Scott calls.

“You still have half your pastry.”

“So?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and continues down the aisle of cubes toward the break room.

“Chocolate, sprinkles if there’s any!” Scott yells.

It’s only because he’s a good friend that Stiles gives Scott the last chocolate donut, even though they are his favorite, and takes a plain glazed for himself.

~

The rest of the day is monotonous. Stiles helps several people over the phone, fixes a few bugs in a code he’s been working on, and is handed a new project by his other boss, the not-nice one. Scott and he discuss _Game of Thrones_ during their lunch break, but Stiles makes them stop before Scott spoils anymore of it for him.

He’s on his way out the door when his phone rings. He glances down at the screen to see it’s his best friend, Lydia. He has to answer because if he doesn’t, Lydia would keep calling and texting him until he did.

“Hey, Lyds, what’s up?”

_“Did you ask him yet?”_

“Who?”

Lydia groans over the line. _“Elevator Derek! Duh! Who else would I be asking about?”_

Stiles regrets the day he told Lydia about his crush. She’s the only one that knows about Derek and how Stiles feels about him, and she won’t stop bugging Stiles about it.

“No, I didn’t. He commented on my orange shirt and my socks and then told me to have a good day.”

_“Orange? Ew. Why are you wearing orange?”_

“I woke up late. It was the first thing I grabbed.”

 _“You know you’re never_ actually _late, right?”_

He lets out a sigh as he pushes past the entrance doors of his office building to outside. “Yes, I know.”

_“Okay. Just so we’re both clear on that.”_

“Are you back in town yet?”

_“I am. Look to your left.”_

Confused, Stiles turns in the direction Lydia said and sees her waving through her windshield, her phone still pressed to her ear. Stiles grins, hangs up his phone, and slips it back into his pocket, striding over to Lydia’s parked car.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says when she rolls down the window.

“Shut up and get in, loser,” she says, clicking the lock button to unlock the door.

“What are we going shopping?” Stiles says with a quirk of his eyebrow, grabbing the door handle to swing open the door.

“Ha ha. No, we are going out tonight. You have been watching way too much nerd TV, and you need to go out and mix it up.”

“Please don’t ever say I need to ‘mix it up’ ever again. Also, nerd TV? Really?”

Lydia puts the car into drive and checks her blind spot before merging into traffic. Stiles can see at a glance that Lydia is ready for a night on the town. She’s wearing a short skirt and flowy blouse, dangling earrings, and more makeup than she ever wears for work. Her long red hair is half up, curls of ringlets dangling from where she has part of her hair pinned up. Although he can see she’s in comfortable flats, he eyes a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals in the back.

“Yes. Nerd TV. That _Games of Crowns_ or whatever that you’ve been watching.”

“It’s _Game of Thrones_.”

“Whatever.”

“Besides, Lydia, I am _wearing orange_ and jeans. I cannot go out and ‘mix it up’ in this.”

Lydia turns her head slightly, biting her lip.

“You’re right. We’re going shopping.”

Stiles drops his head in his hands.

“Cheer up, buttercup,” Lydia says, shoving him playfully in the shoulder. “You need this. If you can’t be with elevator guy, have fun with me and then meet a bar guy.”

Stiles looks up at Lydia and frowns. “I don’t want to meet a bar guy.”

“Ugh, fine. At least have fun with me, then. We haven’t hung out in like three weeks. We’re due for some quality time.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve missed you.”

She pulls into the parking lot of a men’s clothing store and puts the car in park. She turns to give him a wide smile and pats his leg. “I’ve missed you too, boo. Now come on, let’s get you out of that awful color. It’s hurting my eyes.”

Stiles huffs like he’s offended, but he can’t help the tiny smile that forms on his face. He gets out of the car and waits for Lydia to step up beside him.

“If you’d stop going out of town so much,” Stiles says as they are striding up to the store front, arms linked, “then maybe I wouldn’t resort to watching my nerd TV.” Stiles holds the door open for Lydia and trails in after her.

“Ha! See! You agree with me. It is nerd TV. And, sorry, babe. I’m a consultant. I go where the work is. I can’t help it if I’m popular.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles steps away from Lydia and further into the store to look at the stacks of button-down shirts on a nearby table. The store is mostly empty aside from the two employees, one by the cash register, the other by the dressing rooms. He thinks there’s another person in one of the dressing rooms as well, but other than that it’s just him and Lydia.

He takes his time running his fingers over the shirts, hearing the paper inside the folds crinkle at his touch. He knows Lydia will find something, she is the fashion consultant after all, so he’s wasting time until she does.

“What about this?” Lydia holds up a bright red shirt on a hanger that she’s taking from the rack next to her.

Stiles shrugs, he opens his mouth to answer when he hears someone behind.

“It’s better than the orange,” the man says, and Stiles recognizes that voice. He spins around to see Derek a few feet away from him. His shirt is unbuttoned and open, revealing a tight undershirt that does nothing to hide his muscles. Stiles knows he’s staring, more than he should, but he’s never seen Derek in less than a suit. It’s… distracting. Stiles forces himself to look away, but all he does is drag his gaze down the rest of Derek’s body. He’s in crisp, black dress slacks, a nice belt, and no shoes. His toes wiggle beneath… unmatched socks, one green and one gray striped.

Stiles’s head snaps up quickly, his mouth slightly open in shock. Derek grins.

“Told you I wasn’t laughing at you,” Derek whispers. Stiles’s lips curl up in the corners, and he thinks he might have fallen for Derek just a little bit more.

“That’s what I think,” Lydia says, taking a few steps to stand beside Stiles, the red shirt tucked under her arm.

“Excuse me?” Derek asks, shifting his gaze from Stiles to Lydia.

“About the orange shirt. I don’t even know why he left the house wearing it today.” Her voice is fond, and she nudges Stiles’s shoulder with hers. Derek adjusts his stance, and Stiles has had enough elevator rides with him to know Derek is uncomfortable. “Hi,” Lydia says, extending her hand out for Derek. “I’m Lydia, Stiles’s best friend.”

Stiles knows she added that last bit for Derek’s benefit, and he’s grateful. The last thing he wants is for his crush to assume he has a girlfriend.

“Derek,” he replies, taking her hand to shake. “I’m Stiles’s neighbor.”

“Ohhhh, _Derek_. Right.” The way she says it with recognition and a smirk on her face is kind of embarrassing, and Stiles is hoping and praying that Lydia doesn’t say anything more on the subject.

“So, what are you doing here?” Stiles says, hoping to change the subject before Lydia gets any ideas even though it is quite obvious why Derek is half-dressed in a men’s clothing store.

“I needed a few more shirts and things.”

“Right. Of course.” Stiles bobs his head and forces himself to stop before he looks like a bobble head on a dashboard.

“We’re getting Stiles here a few shirts, too,” Lydia interrupts. “It’s my duty as best friend to make sure the fashion travesty that happened today doesn’t happen again.”

Derek chuckles and nods his head in agreement. His hair falls in his eyes a little when he does. It’s not as well-coiffed and styled as it normally is in the mornings when Stiles sees him. It’s probably due to the fact that he’s been trying on shirts and it’s the end of the day. Then, Stiles realizes that aside from occasionally running into him at the mailboxes, this is the first time he’s seen Derek outside of their normal morning run-ins and the apartment building all together. He thinks he could get used to seeing this version of Derek--a little tired and worn from the day, a little more relaxed and not as well put together.

“You’re a good friend,” Derek says, then adds quieter to Stiles, “although I don’t think I would go so far as to say travesty. You look good in anything I’ve seen you in.” The tips of Derek’s ears redden a little, and he ducks his head before straightening up and clearing his throat. “Anyway, I should let you two get back to shopping.”

“Oh, are you done?” Stiles asks, his voice a touch sad because he’s not quite ready to say goodbye.

“Yeah. Just came out to get a different color.”

“Alright.” Stiles tries his best not to frown. Lydia nudges him hard in the side with her elbow. He turns to glare at her because that hurt, and she’s wiggling her eyebrows, her eyes darting quickly to Derek’s retreating form as he walks to get the shirt he had wanted. He’s set the new shirt on the counter where there’s a few others stacked up. The cashier rings them up and puts them into a bag while Derek goes to the dressing room where his things are.

“Ask him out,” Lydia whispers through gritted teeth, “to come with us.” She has a stern look on her face, like if Stiles doesn’t say something she’s going to ask Derek out for him. Stiles tries to mouth the word “No” and shake his head, but Lydia’s furrowed brow and crossed arms are unrelenting. They are still having their silent argument when Derek emerges from the dressing room, shirt buttoned and shoes on. Lydia takes a few steps towards him, but Stiles stops her with a hand on her shoulder. He gestures that he’ll go and that she should wait there.

He approaches Derek who is at the counter, paying for his items.

“Hey, Derek?”

“Hmm?” He turns slightly to face Stiles as he slips his wallet back into his pocket.

“Are you, uh… Lydia and I were going to go out… for dinner. Did you, um, do you have plans for tonight? We’d love for you to join us, if you’re not… busy?”

Derek’s face brightens and immediately falls. “I, actually, have a dinner meeting I have to go to tonight, unfortunately.” He glances down at his watch. “In fact, I should probably get going. Maybe next time?”

Stiles can tell a rejection when he hears one, but he does his best to keep his face neutral, a warm smile on his face, despite the fact that he feels like his heart is breaking. “Right, of course. Next time,” he answers.

Derek takes the bag from the cashier and takes a few steps back, away from the counter and from Stiles. “It was nice to meet you, Lydia. Stiles, I’ll see you later?” Derek bites his bottom lip, like he’s waiting for an answer, waiting for Stiles to confirm that they will in fact see each other later.

“Yup. Have fun at your meeting.”

Derek smiles and gives one last wave before walking out the door.

As soon as the door shuts, Stiles groans and buries his face in his hands.

“Why did you make me do that, Lydia? Now I can’t even pretend I might have a chance with him.”

“Nonsense, who says you don’t have a chance?” She strides over to Stiles and rubs his shoulder.

He narrows his eyes at her. “Did you not hear him rejecting me?”

Lydia scoffs. “That was not a rejection, hon. Maybe he legitimately had a meeting.” Stiles shrugs, taking the shirt still in Lydia’s hand and the pair of jeans she had picked up while he had been talking with Derek, and makes his way to the dressing room. “Or maybe,” she says a few minutes after he’s behind the closed door, “you shouldn’t have said I was coming, too.”

“I thought it would be less… pressure. Besides, I didn’t want you not to come.” He swings the door open and steps out. The jeans are tight, but not uncomfortably so, and the crisp red shirt is on, the first few buttons undone.  “My plans were with you first.”

“Ahhh, boo,” she says, helping him button the top buttons. She pecks him on the cheek when she’s done and steps back to admire him. She twirls her finger, indicating him to follow the motion, and he turns to show her the outfit.

“So?”

“Red is definitely your color.” Stiles opens his mouth, but Lydia cuts him off. “And before you say that there’s red in orange, it does not count.” Stiles pouts. “Come on. Go get your other clothes so we can give them to Goodwill before we go to dinner.”

He ducks back into the dressing room to slide his shoes back on, hoping Lydia hadn’t noticed they were mismatched, and grabs his clothes.

Lydia is at the register the same pair of jeans and shirt that he is wearing on the counter for the cashier to ring up. There’s also a pair of socks.

“What are these?” he holds the pair up after the cashier scans them.

“They are socks, and yes, I noticed. You can put them on in the car. Unfortunately, those shoes will have to do.”

Stiles sighs and puts them back in the bag along with his orange shirt and jeans from earlier. The cashier tells them how much it is, and Lydia pulls out her wallet, handing the cashier her card before Stiles can find the pocket his wallet is in in his old jeans.

“Hey, I can pay,” Stiles says.

“I know. But I want to. I’m forcing you to go out, the least I can do is pay for the clothes I’m forcing you to go out in.”

“That’s kind of you. You’re getting dinner too, right?”

Lydia holds out her hand for her card and turns with an unimpressed stare at Stiles. He grins.

“If I must,” she finally replies. Stiles fist pumps the air in victory behind her back. She puts her card and wallet away and asks for a pair of scissors from the employee. She helps snip the tags off of Stiles’s clothes, returns the scissors, and takes Stiles’s arm to lead him out of the store.

“Thanks,” Stiles says once they are outside, getting back into the car.

“You’re welcome. Come on, I promise we’ll have so much fun you’ll forget all about Elevator Derek.”

~

True to her promise, Stiles doesn’t remember Derek.  In fact, he can’t even remember much of the evening other than after dinner they went to some party Lydia had heard about on Twitter, and after that his mind is blank.

The entire weekend has been a hazy blur as well because whatever happened at that party or whoever he ran into there made him sick. Or maybe it was someone at work; Greenberg had been yammering on the phone to someone about coming down with something. Whatever the case, it’s not a stomach flu or anything, but he’s stuffed up, coughing, possibly has a fever, and is just all in all completely miserable. Lydia stopped by on Sunday with soup and a pile of over-the-counter drugs, which helped some, but by the time Monday morning rolls around, there is no way he is remotely better.

His alarm goes off, and he slams it with his fist to turn it off. Of course all he did was hit the snooze, so when it goes off again 10 minutes later, he blearily fumbles with it to properly turn it off. He sleeps for another few minutes until he can’t breathe because of the mucus and drainage in his throat and nose.

He gets out of bed and reaches for his phone. He sends a quick email to his boss to let them know he’s not coming in, then drags his comforter off his bed and carries it into the living room. His head is mostly cleared, enough that he could actually enjoy watching TV, as opposed to barely being conscious enough to understand the plot or being too busy coughing up a lung to catch any of the dialogue. He throws the comforter on the couch and stumbles to the kitchen. Lydia had left him a few boxes of tea along with the medicine, and he puts on water to boil on the stove to make some.

He’s just made himself a glass of water to swallow the cold medicine pills when he hears someone knock on the door. He waits, thinking that he imagined it. It can’t be Lydia because she left to go out of town after she visited yesterday. His coworkers wouldn’t have noticed he was gone yet, and although he has other friends, none of them would be stopping by at 7 in the morning. There’s no one else it could be, right?

The knock comes again, louder than before, and Stiles decides it’s not in his head and leaves to answer it.

When he swings open the door, he’s surprised to see Derek, and even more surprised to see him in jeans and a T-shirt, his hands full with a few bags, and a cup holder with two cups perched on his hip and held with his arm.

“Uh… hi?” Stiles says. Geez, he’s still in his pajamas, and he probably looks like death warmed over. Derek is the last person he wants seeing him in this state right now.

“Hey, I… How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” Stiles answers truthfully. He can’t say fine because there’s no way he looks fine. “Um, what are you doing here? It’s seven, aren’t you going to be late for work?”

Derek winces. “Yeah… usually. But I… took the day off.”

“Oh? You going somewhere?” he asks, looking down at the bags and cups in Derek’s hand.

Derek shakes his head and shifts the bags and the cupholder in his grip. “No. I actually… these are for you.” He holds up the bags and cup holder out to Stiles, who stands there in the doorway his mouth open and eyes wide.

“For me?” Derek nods his head, his face sheepish, and Stiles takes the cup holder from him and opens the door wider. “Come in.”

Derek brightens and gladly accepts the invitation, bringing in the rest of the bags into Stiles’s apartment. He walks further in, following Stiles, who leads him into the kitchen, and sets the bags on the kitchen table.

Stiles leans over to peek into the bags. There’s more medicine, a box of kleenex and several tupperware along with cans of soup and more tea.

“How’d you know…” Stiles starts to ask, but Derek finishes his thought.

“You were sick? Uh, I ran into Lydia yesterday.” Stiles groans. “Plus, the walls are kind of thin and you kind of sounded like you were dying at one point?”

“It felt like it.” Stiles sniffles but tries to give Derek a smile. “Well thank you, for all of this. That was very nice of you. You really didn’t have to.”

Derek lifts his shoulders as he starts to take everything out of the bag. “Not a problem.”

Stiles watches, confused, as Derek begins putting the tupperware containers that look like they are filled to the brim with soup into the fridge.

“I can get that. Don’t you have to go?” Stiles asks wondering why Derek is still in his apartment, putting away the food that he brought over for Stiles.

Derek, though, ignores the question and continues what he was doing. Once the soup is put away, Derek takes the cup holder from Stiles’s hands and gives him one of the cups. “It’s honey lemon tea,” Derek informs him, then returns to putting the cans of soup away in the pantry.

“I… Why?” is all Stiles can say because why is his neighbor who only ever makes small talk in the elevator with him in the mornings doing this for him?

Derek breathes out a sigh and turns to fully face Stiles, taking a few steps so they are an arm’s length away from each other.

“Because, I… when you weren’t there this morning by the elevator, I got worried and sad and… I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Stiles looks down, his lip between his teeth trying to stop the grin that’s threatening to form.

“Really?” It’s a dumb question, but he’s not at peak performance right now so he can be forgiven.

Derek nods taking a few steps closer to Stiles. “I took the day off work because I was kind of hoping you’d be okay with me keeping you company.”

Stiles looks up in surprise. “You… you took off for me?”

Derek gives him a half smile, stepping closer, close enough to trail his fingers down Stiles’s arm, taking his hand in his. “I don’t know if you noticed,” Derek says, “but I kind of like you… a lot.”

“You do?” Stiles internally winces at how he seems to just be questioning everything, but it’s really because he can’t believe what Derek is saying. After what happened at the store on Friday, Stiles had convinced himself that he and Derek would only be acquaintances, friendly neighbors who said hi and talked about the weather or mismatched socks in the elevator before they went to work. He had even contemplating not bothering to get up early anymore so he could catch Derek at the elevator on the way down.

“I do. I’m sorry I wasn’t more obvious. I should have asked you out, but… I wasn’t sure you felt the same.”

“But, I asked you… on Friday.”

“You don’t know how badly I wanted to come. But, I really did have a meeting. I work at an investment firm and had a client in town. Wait… oh no. You thought I was letting you down gently, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, kind of?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you thought that.”

The teapot of water that Stiles had set on the stove starts to whistle. His hand leaves Derek’s, and he leans over to turn the heat off and moves the pot to a different burner to cool off. There’s no point for him to make tea now since he has the cup in his hand that Derek had brought for him.

He finds Derek’s hand again and squeezes. “It’s okay now.” He drags Derek out of the kitchen by the hand and towards the couch in the living room. “You can make it up to me by staying and watching TV with me.”

Derek lets out a laugh. “Sounds good to me.”

Stiles moves his comforter out of the way for Derek to sit down, and when he makes like he’s going to sit on the other end of the couch, Derek tugs on the blanket in his arms to bring him closer. Stiles goes willingly and hesitates for only a moment before sitting right next to Derek. They’ve admitted that they like each other, sure, but jumping from a few shoulder brushes in the elevator to practically snuggling under a blanket is kind of a big step.

Derek, though, seems completely comfortable with the idea. He waits for Stiles to set his tea on the end table and grab the remote and settle the blanket over their laps. Then, once Stiles is settled, Derek wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in closer to his side. It feels nice, warm and comforting, and Stiles wishes he was feeling 100% so he could appreciate it more.

“So, what are we watching?” Derek asks, and Stiles, whose head is resting half on Derek’s chest and half on his shoulder, can feel the vibrations of his voice.

“How do you feel about _Game of Thrones_?” Stiles asks, pulling up the recorded shows on his DVR.

“I love _Game of Thrones_.”

Stiles turns his head to look at him to see that Derek is sincere in his statement. Derek lifts his eyebrow in question.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Only one?”

Stiles bumps his forehead against Derek’s shoulder. “I could probably come up with some more. You’ll have to give me some time.” He pushes play on the remote to start playing the episode where he last left off.

Derek brings Stiles in tighter to his side, pulling the blanket up and tucking it in around them. “You can have all the time you want,” he says.

“Good,” Stiles whispers, “I’d like that.”

“Me too,” Derek replies in a hushed voice. They both focus back to the TV screen, comfortable in the warmth of each other’s arms.

It might be too soon to start calling Derek his sun and stars out loud, but he can say it in his head all he wants and no one will be the wiser.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's not there, but pretend that as soon as Stiles is feeling better, he and Derek make out. :)
> 
> Come say hi on [my tumblr](http://literaryoblivion.tumblr.com) or [my twitter](http://twitter.com/lit_oblivion).


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